dy to break
into a fit of laughter for the "three."

At last after a thousand delays, a thousand little teasings that excited
his impatience and allowed me to snatch five or six kisses, I said
"three."

The sock flew away. Then there was a wild joy; he would throw himself
back on my arm, waving his bare legs in the air. From his open mouth, in
which two rows of shining little pearls could be distinguished, welled
forth a burst of ringing laughter.

His mother, who, however, laughed too, would say the next minute, "Come,
baby, come, my little angel, you will get cold... But leave off... Will
you have done, you little demon?"

She wanted to scold, but she could not be serious at the sight of his
fair-haired head, and flushed, smiling, happy face, thrown back on my
knee.

She would look at me, and say:

"He is unbearable. Good gracious! what a child."

But I understood that this meant:

"Look how handsome, sturdy and healthy he is, our baby, our little man,
our son."

And indeed he was adorable; at least I thought so.

I had the wisdom--I can say it now that my hair is white--not to let one
of those happy moments pass without amply profiting by it, and really I
did well. Pity the fathers who do not know how to be papas as often as
possible, who do not know how to roll on the carpet, play at being a
horse, pretend to be the great wolf, undress their baby, imitate the
barking of the dog, and the roar of the lion, bite whole mouthfuls
without hurting, and hide behind armchairs so as to let themselves be
seen.

Pity sincerely these unfortunates. It is not only pleasant child's play
that they neglect, but true pleasure, delightful enjoyment, the scraps
of that happiness which is greatly calumniated and accused of not
existing because we expect it to fall from heaven in a solid mass when
it lies at our feet in fine powder. Let us pick up the fragments, and
not grumble too much; every day brings us with its bread its ration of
happiness.

Let us walk slowly and look down on the ground, searching around us
and seeking in the corners; it is there that Providence has its
hiding-places.

I have always laughed at those people who rush through life at full
speed, with dilated nostrils, uneasy eyes, and glance rivetted on the
horizon. It seems as though the present scorched their feet, and when
you say to them, "Stop a moment, alight, take a glass of this good old
wine, let us chat a little, laugh a little, kiss your